Man of Fate

He saw flashing lights from a police cruiser coming in their direction. “The police are on their way and when they get here I’m going to have them call for an ambulance.”

Ava sat up straighter, but more pain shot through her head, bringing with it another wave of dizziness. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Yes, you do. When my mechanic gets here I’m going to have him tow your car to his garage, and I’ll follow the ambulance in my car.”

When Ava had gotten into her car she hadn’t thought that instead of going to visit a patient she would become one. “It’s just a headache.”

Kyle’s expression was grim. “It has to be more than a headache if you passed out.”

Any attempt at smiling brought more stabbing pain for Ava. “Do you want me to go to the hospital because you’re afraid I’m going to sue you? After all, New York has a no-fault insurance.”

Hard-pressed not to laugh, Kyle gave the woman a long, penetrating stare. He hadn’t lied when he’d said she was beautiful, because she was. Not beautiful in the traditional sense, but stunning nonetheless.

Ava Warrick’s short, fashionably styled hair and her skin were her best assets. Her dark brown complexion was the color of milk chocolate, its flawlessness reminding him of whipped mousse. He forced himself not to look below her neck where a scoop-neck T-shirt revealed a hint of cleavage and generous hips in fitted jeans.

“Not in the least.”

Time seemed to go by in slow motion even though it was only minutes until the mechanic arrived with a tow truck, followed by the police cruiser. Kyle instructed the mechanic to tow Ava’s car, then told the police officers that Ava needed to be transported to a hospital. A female officer, who looked young enough to have been a recent police-academy graduate, called for an ambulance while her partner completed the accident report.

Ava’s protests that she didn’t need medical assistance were ignored when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics assisted her inside and closed the door. She lay down on the gurney, gritting her teeth each time the vehicle hit a bump in the roadway. If she hadn’t needed a doctor before, she clearly did now. By the time the ambulance driver had maneuvered into the area leading to the emergency room and the gurney was lowered to the ground, the nausea and pain vanished as she slipped into a comforting blackness.

Kyle alternated between pacing the floor and reading the sports pages of the Daily News, which someone had left on a chair in the E.R. waiting room. He didn’t know why he’d followed Ava Warrick to the hospital except maybe to reassure himself that she would be all right. He realized his actions had come from his father’s endless preaching that men were placed on the earth to protect women, something he’d never forgotten.

Elwin Chatham should’ve been a preacher instead of a railroad chef. Whenever he was home his booming voice echoed throughout the apartment as he lectured his three children about making bad choices that could result in them either going to prison or to an early grave.

Kyle had always thought his father talked just to hear himself talk. But his warnings were realized when at fourteen, Kyle, hanging out with the wrong crowd, landed in a juvenile detention center. The single episode was a wake-up call that Elwin hadn’t been just beating his gums, but wanted the best for his children. And as the eldest, Kyle was expected to set a good example.

“Mr. Chatham?”

Kyle’s head came up when he heard someone call his name. Rising to his feet, he saw a tall, gangly doctor with a mop of light brown hair falling over his forehead standing a few away. “Yes, I’m Mr. Chatham.”

The doctor extended his hand. “I’m Dr. LaMarca, and I’ve just completed my examination of Ms. Warrick.”

Kyle took the proffered hand. “How is she?”

Bright-blue eyes met his warm brown ones. “I’m recommending that we keep her overnight for further tests.”

A frown settled on Kyle’s face. “What type of tests are you talking about?”

“Ms. Warrick has suffered a concussion—”

“It’s only a concussion?” he asked, interrupting the doctor.

Dr. LaMarca nodded. “Yes. In order to rule out any other neurological damage I’ve ordered Ms. Warrick to undergo a CT scan.”

His frown deepened. “You suspect her injury may be more serious?”

“Mr. Chatham, I’m requesting the scan to err on the side of caution. I’ve seen patients who’ve been diagnosed with a mild concussion end of up with something a lot more serious because the examining doctor failed to order a brain scan.”

“When are you going to do the scan?”

“Not until tomorrow morning. The only neurosurgeon on staff at the present time is in surgery. Ms. Warrick will stay overnight, and will be released if the scan comes back negative for neurological injury.”

“Did you tell her that she has to remain overnight?” Kyle asked.

A deep flush crept up the doctor’s neck to his hairline. “Yes, I did. Unfortunately Ms. Warrick wasn’t receptive to the idea until I outlined the seriousness of her injury.”

Kyle’s eyebrows lifted. “Injury? She got hit in the face with an air bag.”

A wave of doubt had crept into Kyle’s mind when he’d thought that perhaps Ava Warrick was trying to make something more of a simple fender-bender. After all, she was the one who’d mentioned New York’s no-fault insurance law. He quickly changed his mind when he recalled her reluctance to seek medical assistance. He was the one who’d insisted she go to the hospital.

“When you see her face it looks like she has been hit with a baseball bat.”

“May I see her?”

The doctor nodded. “I’m hoping you can convince her that she should stay and have the scan.”

Kyle followed the doctor across the waiting room, where mothers sat cradling their sick children and a group of teenagers huddled together, talking and awaiting news of their friend who’d come in bleeding from a gunshot wound.

He made his way down a corridor to an area where curtains cordoned off a row of stretchers into examining rooms.

Dr. LaMarca stopped and swept back a curtain. Ava Warrick sat on a chair, eyes closed and hands clasped in her lap. The right side of her face was bruised and swollen, and Kyle doubted whether she had complete vision in her left eye.

Moving quickly, he went to his knees and took her hands. They were ice-cold. “I’m sorry, Ava.” Now he knew why the doctor had recommended a brain scan.

Ava opened her eyes when she felt the warmth of the hands cradling hers. It took her a full minute before she recognized the man hunkered in front of her. He was the one whose car she had rear-ended.

“I want to go home, Mr….” Her voice trailed off when she realized she didn’t know his name.

“My name is Kyle Chatham, and no, you can’t go home tonight.”

“Why not?”

“The doctor wants you to have a CT scan.”

Ava blinked slowly. “Why?”

“To make sure there isn’t another problem.”

She closed her eyes. “The only problem I have right now is a mother of a headache.”

“You have more than a headache. You suffered a concussion.”

Her eyes opened again. “What I have is a slight concussion.”

“What you have is an injury to the brain which interferes with your cerebral functioning. Simple or severe—it’s still the same thing.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a doctor.”